In the city of Troyes, in the year of grace, 1428, Canon Guillaume
Chappedelaine was elected by the Chapter to be King of the Epiphany, in
accordance with the custom which then prevailed throughout Christian
France. For the canons were wont to choose one of their number and to
designate him as king because he was to take the place of the King of
kings and to gather them all round his table, until such time as Jesus
Christ Himself should gather them, as they all hoped, into His holy
paradise.
Sieur Guillaume Chappedelaine owed his election to his virtuous life
and his generosity. He was a rich man. Both the Burgundian and the
Armagnac captains, when ravaging Champagne, had spared his vineyards.
For this good fortune he was indebted first to God and then to
himself, to the kindness he had shown to the two factions which were
at that time rending asunder the kingdom of the lilies. His wealth
had contributed not a little to his election; for in that year a
_setier_[1] of corn fetched eight francs, five-and-twenty eggs six
sous, a young pig seven francs, while throughout the winter Churchmen
had been reduced to eat cabbages like villeins.
Wherefore on the Feast of the Epiphany, Sieur Guillaume Chappedelaine,
clothed in his dalmatica, holding in his hand a palm-branch in lieu
of a sceptre, took his place in the cathedral choir, beneath a canopy
of cloth of gold. Meanwhile, out in the sacristy, there came forth
three canons, wearing crowns upon their heads. One was robed in white,
another in red, the third in black. They stood for the three kings
of the East, the Magi, and, going down to that part of the church
which represents the foot of the cross, they chanted the Gospel of
St. Matthew. A deacon, bearing at the end of a pole five lighted
candles, to symbolize the miraculous star which led the Magi to
Bethlehem, ascended the great nave and entered the choir. The three
canons followed him singing, and, when they reached this passage in
the gospel, _Et intrantes domum, invenerunt puerum cum Maria, matre
ejus, et procidentes adoraverunt eum,_ they stopped in front of Sieur
Guillaume Chappedelaine and bowed low before him. Then came three
children, bearing salt and spices, which Sieur Guillaume graciously
received after the manner of the Infant King who had accepted the
myrrh, the gold and the frankincense of the kings of this world. After
this divine service was celebrated with due devoutness.
In the evening the canons were invited to sup with the King of the
Epiphany. Sieur Guillaume's house was close against the apse of the
cathedral. It was recognizable by the golden hood on a shield of stone
which adorned its low door. That night the great hall was strewn with
foliage and lit by twelve torches of fir-wood. The whole Chapter
sat down to the table, groaning beneath a lamb cooked whole. There
were present Sieurs Jean Bruant, Thomas Alépée, Simon Thibouville,
Jean Coquemard, Denys Petit, Pierre Corneille, Barnabe Videloup and
François Pigouchel, canons of Saint-Pierre, Sieur Thibault de Saugles,
knight and hereditary lay canon, and, at the bottom of the table,
Pierrolet, the little clerk, who, although he could not write, was
Sieur Guillaume's secretary and served him at Mass. He looked like a
girl dressed up as a boy. He it was who on Candlemas Day appeared as
an angel. It was also the custom on Ember Wednesday in December, when
the coming of the Angel Gabriel to announce to Mary the mystery of
the Incarnation was read at Mass, for a young girl to be placed on a
platform and for a child with wings to tell her that she was about to
become the mother of the Son of God. A stuffed dove was suspended over
the girl's head. For two years Pierrolet had represented the angel of
the Annunciation.
But his soul was far from being as sweet as his countenance. He was
violent, foolhardy and quarrelsome, and he often provoked boys older
than himself. He was suspected of being immoral; and in truth the
soldiers garrisoned in the towns set no good example. Little notice,
however, was taken of his bad habits. That which most vexed Sieur
Guillaume was that Pierrolet was an Armagnac and for ever quarrelling
with the Burgundians. The canon repeatedly told him that such a state
of mind was not only wicked but absolutely devilish in that good
town of Troyes, where the late Henry V of England had celebrated his
marriage with Madame Catherine of France and where the English were the
rightful masters, for all power is of God. _Omnis potestas a Deo._
The guests having taken their places, Sieur Guillaume recited the
_Benedicite_ and every one began to eat in silence. Sieur Jean
Coquemard was the first to speak. Turning to Sieur Jean Bruant, his
neighbour, he said:
"You are wise and learned. Did you fast yesterday?"
"It was seemly so to do," replied Sieur Jean Bruant. "In the rubric,
the eve of the Epiphany is described as a vigil and a vigil is a fast."
"Pardon me," retorted Sieur Jean Coquemard. "But I, together with
notable doctors of divinity, hold that an austere fast accords ill with
the joy of the faithful as they recall the birth of our Saviour which
the Church continues to celebrate until the Epiphany."
"In my opinion," replied Sieur Jean Bruant, "those who do not fast on
these vigils have fallen away from our ancient piety."
"And in mine," cried Sieur Jean Coquemard, "those who by fasting
prepare for the most joyful of festivals are guilty of following
customs censored by the majority of our bishops."
The dispute between the two canons began to wax bitter.
"Not to fasti What lack of zeal!" exclaimed Sieur Jean Bruant.
"To fast! How obstinate!" said Sieur Jean Coquemard. "You are one of
those proud, reckless men who love to stand alone."
"You are one of the weak who meekly follow the corrupt herd. But even
in these wicked times of ours I have my authorities. _Quidam asserunt
in vigilia Epiphaniæ jejunandum."_
"That settles the question. _Non jejunetur!_"
"Peace! Peace!" cried Sieur Guillaume from the depths of his great
raised seat. "You are both right: it is praiseworthy of you, Jean
Coquemard, to partake of food on the eve of the Epiphany, as a sign of
rejoicing, and of you, Jean Bruant, to fast on the same vigil, since
you fast with seemly gladness."
This utterance was approved by the whole Chapter.
"Not Solomon himself could have pronounced a wiser judgment," cried
Sieur Pierre Corneille.
And Sieur Guillaume, having put to his lips his goblet of silver gilt,
Sieurs Jean Bruant, Jean Coquemard, Thomas Alépée, Simon Thibouville,
Denys Petit, Pierre Corneille, Barnabé Videloup and François Pigouchel
all cried with one voice:
"The King drinks! the King drinks!"
The uttering of this cry was part of the festival, and the guest who
failed to join in it risked a severe penalty.
Sieur Guillaume, seeing that the flagons were empty, ordered more wine
to be brought, and the servants grated the horse-radish which should
stimulate the thirst of the guests.
"To the health of Monsignor, Bishop of Troyes and of the Regent of
France," said Sieur Guillaume, rising from his canonical seat.
"Right willingly, sieur," said Thibault of Saulges, knight. "But it is
an open secret that our Bishop is disputing with the Regent touching
the double tithe which Monsignor of Bedford is exacting from Churchmen,
under the pretext of financing the Crusade against the Hussites. Thus
we are about to mingle in one toast the healths of two enemies."
"Ha ha!" replied Sieur Guillaume. "But healths are proposed for peace
and not for war. I drink to King Henry VI's Regent of France and to the
health of Monsignor, Bishop of Troyes, whom we all elected two years
ago."
The canons, raising their goblets, drank to the health of the Bishop
and of the Regent Bedford.
Meanwhile there was raised at the bottom of the table a young and as
yet piping voice, which cried:
"To the health of the Dauphin Louis, the true King of France!"
It was the little Pierrolet, whose Armagnac sympathies, heated by the
canon's wine, were finding expression.
No one took any notice, and Sieur Guillaume having drunk again they all
cried in chorus:
"The King drinks! The King drinks!"
The guests, all speaking at once, were noisily discussing matters both
sacred and profane.
"Have you heard," said Thibault de Saulges, "that the Regent has sent
ten thousand English to take Orleans?"
"In that case," said Sieur Guillaume, "the town will fall into their
hands, as have already Jargeau and Beaugency, and so many good cities
of the kingdom."
"That remains to be seen!" said the little Pierrolet, growing red.
But, he being at the far end of the table, once again no one heard him.
"Let us drink, monsignors," said Sieur Guillaume, who was doing the
honours of his table lavishly.
And he set the example by raising his great cup of silver gilt.
More loudly than ever the cry resounded:
"The King drinks! The King drinks!"
But after the thunder of the toast had rolled away, Sieur Pierre
Corneille, who was seated rather low down at the table, said bitterly:
"Monsignors, I denounce the little Pierrolet. He did not cry 'The King
drinks!' Thereby he has transgressed our rights and customs, and he
must be punished."
"He must be punished!" repeated in chorus Sieurs Denys Petit and
Barnabe Videloup.
"Let chastisement be meted out to him," said, in his turn, Sieur
Guillaume. "His hands and face must be smeared with soot, for such is
the custom."
"It is the custom!" cried all the canons together.
And Sieur Pierre Corneille went to fetch soot from the chimney, while
Sieurs Thomas Alépée and Simon Thibouville, laughing unrestrainedly,
threw themselves upon the child and held his arms and legs.
But Pierrolet escaped out of their hands, then, standing with his back
to the wall, he drew a little dagger from his belt and swore that he
would plunge it into the throat of anyone who came near him.
Such violence highly amused the canons, and especially Sieur Guillaume.
Rising from his seat, he went up to his little secretary, followed by
Pierre Corneille, who held in his hand a shovelful of soot.
"It is I," he said in unctuous tones, "who for his punishment will make
of this naughty child a negro, a servant of that black King Balthazar
who came to the manger. Pierre Corneille, hold out the shovel."
And, with a gesture as deliberate as that with which he would have
sprinkled holy water upon the faithful, he threw a pinch of soot into
the face of the child who, rushing upon him, plunged his dagger into
Sieur Guillaume's stomach.
The canon uttered a long sigh and fell with his face to the ground. His
guests crowded round him. They saw that he was dead.
Pierrolet had disappeared. A search was made for him all over the town,
but he could not be found. Later it became known that he had enlisted
in Captain La Hire's company. At the Battle of Patay, under the Maid's
eyes, he took prisoner an English captain and was dubbed a knight.
[1] An obsolete measure varying according to place. In 1703, in the
Orkney and Shetland Isles a setten of barley was about twenty-eight
pounds' weight.
"LA MUIRON"
"And sometimes, during our long evenings, the Commander-in
-Chief would tell us ghost stories, a species of story in
the telling of which he excelled."--_Mémoires du Comte
Lavallette._
For more than three months Bonaparte had been without news from
Europe, when on his return from Saint-Jean-d'Acre he sent an envoy
to the Turkish admiral under the pretext of negotiating an exchange
of prisoners, but in reality in the hope that Sir Sidney Smith would
stop this officer on the way and enlighten him as to recent events;
whether, as might be expected, these had been unfavourable to the
Republic. The General calculated rightly. Sir Sidney had the envoy
brought to his ship and received him there with honour. Having entered
into conversation, the English commander soon learnt that the Syrian
army was totally without despatches or information of any kind. He
showed the Frenchman the newspapers lying open on the table and, with
perfidious courtesy, invited him to take them away with him.
Bonaparte spent the night in his tent reading them. In the morning
he had resolved to return to France in order to assume the government
in the place of those who were on the point of being overthrown. Once
he had set foot on the soil of the Republic, he would crush the weak
and violent government which was rendering the country a prey to fools
and rogues, and he alone would occupy the vacant place. Before he
could carry out his plan, however, he must cross the Mediterranean in
defiance of adverse winds and British squadrons. But Bonaparte could
see nothing save his purpose and his star. By an extraordinary stroke
of good luck he had received the Directory's permission to leave the
Egyptian army and to appoint his own successor.
He summoned Admiral Gantheaume, who had been at head-quarters since
the destruction of the fleet, and instructed him quickly and secretly
to arm two Venetian frigates, which were at Alexandria, and to direct
them to a certain lonely point upon the coast. In a sealed document he
appointed General Kléber Commander-in-Chief. Then, under the pretext of
making a tour of inspection, taking with him a squadron of guides, he
went to the Marabou inlet. On the evening of the 7th of Fructidor in
the year VII, at the junction of two roads, whence the sea was visible,
he came face to face with General Menou, who was returning with his
escort to Alexandria. Finding it impossible and unnecessary to keep his
secret any longer, he took a brusque farewell of these soldiers, urged
them to acquit themselves well in Egypt and said:
"If I have the good luck to set foot in France, the reign of the
chatterboxes will be over!"
He seemed to say this spontaneously and, so to speak, in spite of
himself. Yet such an announcement was well calculated to justify his
flight and to suggest future power.
He jumped into the boat, which at nightfall drew alongside of the
frigate, _La Muiron._ Admiral Gantheaume welcomed him beneath his flag
with these words:
"I command under your star."
And he set sail immediately. With the General were Lavallette, his
aide-de-camp, Monge and Berthollet. The frigate, _La Carrère,_ which
served as a convoy, had on board the' wounded generals, Lannes and
Murat, and Messieurs Denon, Costaz and Parseval-Grandmaison.
Hardly had they started when the wind dropped. The Admiral proposed to
return to Alexandria lest dawn should find them in sight of Aboukir,
where the enemy's fleet lay at anchor. The faithful Lavallette
entreated the General to agree. But Bonaparte pointed seawards.
"Have no fear. We shall get through."
After midnight a fair breeze began to blow. By dawn the flotilla
was out of sight of land. As Bonaparte was walking alone on deck,
Berthollet came up to him.
"General, you were well advised to tell Lavallette not to be afraid and
that we should be able to continue on our course."
Bonaparte smiled.
"I reassured one who is weak but devoted. Your character, Berthollet,
is different, and to you I shall speak differently. The future must
not be counted upon. The present alone matters. One must dare and
calculate, and leave the rest to luck."
And, quickening his steps, he muttered:
"Dare ... calculate ... avoid any cast-iron plan ... conform to
circumstances, follow where they lead. Take advantage of the slightest
as well as of the greatest opportunities. Attempt only the possible,
and all that is possible."
At dinner that day, when the General reproached Lavallette with his
timidity on the previous evening, the aide-de-camp replied that at
present his fears were different but not less, and that he was not
ashamed to confess them, because they concerned the fate of Bonaparte,
consequently the fate of France and of the world.
"I learned from Sir Sidney's secretary," he said, "that the commodore
believes in keeping out of sight during a blockade. So, knowing his
strategy and his character, we must expect to find him in our way. And
in that case...."
Bonaparte interrupted him.
"In that case you cannot doubt that our intuition and our skill would
rise superior to our danger. But you flatter that young madman when you
regard him as capable of any consecutive and methodical action. Smith
ought to be captain of a fire-ship."
Bonaparte was not fair to the formidable commander who had been the
cause of his misfortune at Saint-Jean-d'Acre; and his injustice arose
doubtless from a wish to attribute his failure to a turn of fortune
rather than to his adversary's skill.
The Admiral raised his hand as if to emphasize the resolve which he was
about to express.
"If we meet the English cruisers, I will go on board _La Carrère,_ and,
you may depend upon it, I will keep them so well occupied that they
will give _La Muiron_ time to escape."
Lavallette opened his mouth. He was about to observe that _La Muiron_
was not a fast sailer and that consequently such an opportunity would
be lost upon her. But he feared to displease the General, and swallowed
his words. Bonaparte, however, read his thoughts; and, taking him by
the coat button, said:
"Lavallette, you are a good fellow, but you will never be a good
soldier. You never think enough of your advantages, and you are for
ever concerned with irreparable disadvantages. We cannot make this
frigate a fast sailer. But you must think of the crew, animated with
the brightest enthusiasm and capable of working miracles, if need be.
You forget that our boat is _La Muiron._ I myself gave her that name.
I was at Venice. Invited to christen the frigate which had just been
armed, I seized the opportunity of honouring the memory of one who
was dear to me, of my aide-de-camp, who fell on the bridge of Areola
while protecting his General with his own body under a hail of shot and
shell. In this ship we sail to-day. Can you doubt that its name augurs
well for us?"
For a while longer he continued to hearten them with his glowing words.
He then remarked that he would retire to rest. It was known on the
morrow that he had decided to endeavour to avoid the British squadrons
by some four or five weeks' sailing along the African coast.
Henceforth day followed day in uneventful monotony. _La Muiron_ kept
in sight of the low, unfrequented coast, which was not likely to be
reconnoitred by the enemy's ships, and every half league she tacked
without venturing out to sea. Bonaparte passed his days in conversation
and in reverie. Sometimes he was heard to murmur the names of Ossian
and Fingal. Sometimes he asked his aide-de-camp to read aloud Vertot's
_Revolutions_[1] or Plutarch's _Lives._ He appeared neither anxious
nor impatient, nor preoccupied, more, probably, through a natural
disposition to live in the present than as the result of self-control.
He seemed to take a melancholy pleasure in contemplating that sea
which, whether angry or serene, threatened his destiny and divided
him from his object. On rising from table, when the weather was fine,
he would go on deck and half recline on a gun-carriage in the same
somewhat unsociable and forlorn attitude that was his when, as a child,
he would lie propped up by his elbows on the rocks of his native isle.
The two scientists, the Admiral, the Captain of the frigate and the
aide-de-camp, Lavallette, would stand round him. And the conversation,
which he carried on by fits and starts, most frequently turned on
some new scientific discovery. Monge was not a brilliant talker; but
his conversation revealed him as a clear, logical thinker. Inclined
to consider utility even in physics, he was always a patriot and a
good citizen. Berthollet was a better philosopher and more given to
evolving general theories.
"It will not do," he said, "to represent chemistry as the mysterious
science of metamorphoses, a new Circe, waving her magic wand over
nature. Such ideas may flatter vivid imaginations; but they will
not satisfy thoughtful minds, who are striving to prove that the
transformations of bodies are subject to the general laws of physics."
He had a presentiment that the reactions, which the chemist provokes
and observes, occur under precise mechanical conditions which some day
may be the subject of exact calculation. And, constantly recurring to
this idea, he would apply it to a variety of data, known or surmised.
One evening Bonaparte, who had no sympathy with pure speculation,
brusquely interrupted him:
"Your theories...! Mere soap-bubbles born of a breath and dissipated
by a breath. Chemistry, Berthollet, is no more than a game when not
applied to the requirements of war or industry. In all his researches
the man of science should set before him some definite great and useful
object, like Monge, who, in order to manufacture gunpowder, sought
nitre in cellars and stables."
But Monge himself, as well as Berthollet, insisted on representing to
the General the necessity of understanding phenomena and submitting
them to general laws, before attempting practical applications, and
they argued that any other procedure would lead to the dangerous
obscurity of empiricism.
Bonaparte agreed. But he feared empiricism more than ideology. And
suddenly he inquired of Berthollet:
"Do you, with your explanations, hope to penetrate into the infinite
mystery of nature, to enter on the unknown?"
Berthollet replied that, without pretending to explain the universe,
the scientist rendered humanity the greatest service by substituting
a rational view of natural phenomena for the terrors of ignorance and
superstition.
"Is he not man's true benefactor," added Berthollet, "who delivers him
from the phantoms introduced into the soul by the fear of an imaginary
hell, who rescues him from the yoke imposed by priests and soothsayers,
who expels from his mind the terrors of dreams and omens?"
Night rested like a vast shadow on the great expanse of sea. In a
moonless and cloudless sky, multitudes of stars glittered like a
suspended shower. For a moment the General remained lost in meditation.
Then, lifting up his head and half rising, he pointed to the dome of
heaven, and with the uncultured voice of the young herdsman and the
hero of antiquity he pierced the silence:
"Mine is a soul of marble which nothing can perturb, a heart
inaccessible to common weaknesses. But you, Berthollet, do you
understand sufficiently what life and death are? Have you explored
their confines so far as to be able to affirm that they are without
mystery? Are you sure that all apparitions are no more than the
phantoms of a diseased brain? Can you explain all presentiments?
General La Harpe had the stature and the heart of a Grenadier. His
intelligence was in its element in battle. There it shone. At Fombio,
for the first time, on the evening before his death, he was struck
dumb, as one who is stunned, frozen by a strange and sudden fear. You
deny apparitions. Monge, did you not meet Captain Aubelet in Italy?"
At this question, Monge tried to remember, then shook his head. No, he
did not recollect Captain Aubelet.
Bonaparte resumed:
"I had observed him at Toulon, where he won his epaulettes, like a hero
of ancient Greece. He was as young, as handsome, as courageous as a
soldier from Platea. Struck by his serious air, his clear-cut features
and the look of wisdom on his young countenance, his superior officers
had nicknamed him Minerva, and the Grenadiers also called him by that
name, though they were ignorant of its significance.
"Captain Minerva!" cried Monge. "Why did you not call him that at
first? Captain Minerva was killed beneath the walls of Mantua a few
weeks before I arrived in that city. His death had made a great
impression, because it was associated with marvellous happenings which
were related to me, though I do not remember them exactly. All I
recollect is that General Miollis ordered Captain Minerva's sword and
gorget, crowned with laurels, to be carried at the head of the column
which one feast day defiled in front of Virgil's grotto, as a tribute
to the memory of the poet of heroes."
"Aubelet's," resumed Bonaparte, "was that perfectly calm courage which
I have never observed in anyone save Bessières. His passions were of
the noblest. And in everything he sacrificed himself. He had a brother
in arms, Captain Demarteau, a few years his senior, whom he loved
with all the affection of a great heart. Demarteau did not resemble
his friend. Impulsive, passionate, equally eager for pleasure and for
danger, he was always the life and soul of the camp. Aubelet was the
proud devotee of duty, Demarteau the joyous lover of glory. The latter
returned his comrade's affection. In those two friends the story of
Nisus and Euryalus was re-enacted beneath our flag. The end, both of
one and the other, was surrounded with extraordinary circumstances.
They were told to me, Monge, as to you, but I paid better heed,
although at that time my mind was occupied with greater affairs. I
desired to take Mantua without delay and before a new Austrian army
had time to enter Italy. Nevertheless I found time to read a report of
the incidents which had preceded and followed Captain Aubelet's death.
Certain of these incidents border on the miraculous. Their cause must
either be assigned to unknown faculties, which man may acquire in
unique moments, or to the intervention of an intelligence superior to
ours."
"General, you must exclude the second hypothesis," said Berthollet.
"An observer of nature never perceives the intervention of a superior
intelligence."
"I know that you deny the existence of Providence," replied Bonaparte.
"That may be permissible for a scientist shut tip in his study, but not
for a leader of peoples who can only control the ordinary mind through
a community of ideas. If you would govern men, you must think with them
on all great subjects. You must move with public opinion."
And, raising his eyes to the light flaming in the darkness on the
pinnacle of the mainmast, he said, with hardly a pause:
"The wind blows from the north."
He had changed the subject with the suddenness which was his wont and
which had caused some one to say to M. Denon:
"The General shuts the drawer."
Admiral Gantheaume observed that they could not expect the wind to
change before the first days of autumn.
The light was flaring towards Egypt. Bonaparte looked in that
direction. His gaze plunged into space; and, speaking in staccato
tones, he let fall these words:
"If only they can hold out yonder! The evacuation of Egypt would be
a commercial and military disaster. Alexandria is the capital of the
controllers of Europe. Thence, I shall destroy England's commerce and
I shall change the destiny of India.... For me, as for Alexander,
Alexandria is the fortress, the port, the arsenal whence I start to
conquer the world and whither I cause the wealth of Africa and Asia
to flow. England can only be conquered in Egypt. If she were to take
possession of Egypt, she instead of us would be the mistress of the
world. Turkey is on her death-bed. Egypt assures me the possession
of Greece. For immortality my name shall be inscribed by that of
Epaminondas. The fate of the world hangs upon my intelligence and
Kléber's firmness."
For some days afterwards the General remained silent. He had read to
him the _Révolutions de la République romaine,_ the story of which
seemed to him to drag unbearably. The aide-de-camp, Lavallette, had
to gallop through the Abbé Vertot's pages. And even then Bonaparte's
patience would be exhausted, and, snatching the book from his hands,
he would ask for Plutarch's _Lives,_ of which he never tired. He
considered that, though lacking broad and clear vision, they were
permeated with an overpowering sense of destiny.
So one day, after his siesta, he summoned his reader and bade him
resume the _Life of Brutus,_ where he had left off on the previous
evening. Lavallette opened the book at the page marked, and read:
"Then, as he and Cassius were preparing to leave Asia with the whole of
their army (the night was very dark, and but a feeble light burned in
his tent; a profound silence reigned throughout the whole camp and he
himself was wrapt in thought), it seemed to him that he saw some one
enter his tent. He looked towards the door and he perceived a horrible
spectre, whose countenance was strange and terrifying, who approached
him and stood there in silence. He had the courage to address it. 'Who
art thou,' he asked, 'a man or a god? What comest thou to do here
and what desirest thou of me?' 'Brutus,' replied the phantom, 'I am
thy evil genius, and thou shalt see me at Philippi.' Then Brutus,
unperturbed, said: 'I will see thee there.' Straightway the phantom
disappeared, and Brutus, to whom the servants, whom he summoned, said
that they had seen and heard nothing, continued to busy himself with
his affairs."
"It is here," cried Bonaparte, "in this watery solitude, that such a
scene has its most gruesome effect. Plutarch narrates well. He knows
how to give animation to his story, how to make his characters stand
out. But the relation between events escapes him. One cannot escape
one's fate. Brutus, who had a commonplace mind, believed in strength of
will. A really superior man would not labour under that delusion. He
sees how necessity limits him. He does not dash himself against it. To
be great is to depend on everything. I depend on events which a mere
nothing determines. Wretched creatures that we are, we are powerless to
change the nature of things. Children are self-willed. A great man is
not. What is a human life? The curve described by a projectile."
The Admiral came to tell Bonaparte that the wind had at length changed.
The passage must be attempted. The danger was urgent. Vessels detached
from the English fleet, anchored off Syracuse, commanded by Nelson,
were guarding the sea which they were about to traverse between Tunis
and Sicily. Once the flotilla had been sighted the terrible Admiral
would be down upon them in a few hours.
Gantheaume doubled Cape Bon by night with all lights out. The night
was clear. The watch sighted a ship's lights to the north-east. The
anxiety which consumed Lavallette had attacked even Monge. Bonaparte,
seated, as usual, on his gun-carriage, displayed a tranquillity
which might be deemed real or simulated according to the view taken
of his fatalism! whether it arose merely from a sanguine temper and
the capacity for self-deception or was simply one of his numerous
poses. After discussing with Monge and Berthollet various matters of
physics, mathematics and military science, he went on to speak of
certain superstitions from which perhaps his mind was not completely
emancipated.
"You deny the miraculous," he said to Monge. "But we live and die in
the midst of the miraculous. You told me the other day that you had
scornfully put out of your mind the extraordinary happenings associated
with Captain Aubelet's death. Perhaps Italian credulity had embroidered
them too elaborately. And that may excuse you. Listen to me. On the
9th of September, at midnight, Captain Aubelet was in bivouac before
Mantua. The overpowering heat of the day had been followed by a night
freshened by the mists rising from the marshy plain. Aubelet, feeling
his cloak, became aware that it was wet. And, as he was shivering
slightly, he went near to a fire which the Grenadiers had lit in order
to heat their soup, and he warmed his feet, seated on a pack-saddle.
Gradually the night and the mist enveloped him. In the distance he
heard the neighing of horses and the regular cries of the sentinels.
The captain had been there for some time, anxious, sad, his eyes fixed
on the ashes in the brazier, when a tall form rose noiselessly at his
side. He felt it near him and dared not turn his head. Nevertheless, he
did turn, and recognized his friend, Captain Demarteau, in his usual
attitude, his left hand on his hip and swaying slightly to and fro.
At this sight Captain Aubelet felt his hair stand on end. He could
not doubt the presence of his brother-in-arms, and yet he could not
believe it, for he knew that Captain Demarteau was on the Maine with
Jourdan, who was threatening the Archduke Charles. But his friend's
aspect increased Aubelet's alarm, for though Demarteau's appearance was
perfectly natural there was in it notwithstanding something unfamiliar.
It was Demarteau, and yet there was something in him which could not
fail to inspire fear. Aubelet opened his mouth. But his tongue froze,
he could utter no sound. It was the other who spoke: 'Farewell! I go
where I must. We shall meet to-morrow!' He departed with a noiseless
step.
"On the morrow, Aubelet was sent to reconnoitre at San Giorgio. Before
going, he summoned his first lieutenant and gave him such instructions
as would enable him to replace his captain. 'I shall be killed to-day,'
he added, 'as surely as Demarteau was killed yesterday.'
"And he described to several officers what he had seen in the night.
They believed him to be suffering from an attack of the fever which
had begun to declare itself among the troops encamped in the Mantuan
marshes.
"Aubelet's company completed its reconnaissance of the San Giorgio
Fort without hindrance. Having achieved its object, it fell back on
our positions. It was marching under the cover of an olive wood. The
first lieutenant, approaching the captain, said to him: 'Now, Captain
Minerva, you no longer doubt that we shall bring you back alive?'
"Aubelet was about to reply, when a bullet whistled through the leaves
and struck him on the forehead.
"A fortnight later a letter from General Joubert, which the Directory
communicated to the Italian army, announced the death of the brave
Captain Demarteau, who fell on the field of honour on the 9th of
September."
As soon as he had finished his story the General left the group of
silent listeners, to pace the deck with long strides and in silence.
"General," said Gantheaume, "we have passed the most dangerous part of
our course."
The next day he bore towards the north, intending to sail along the
Sardinian coast as far as Corsica and thence to make for the coast of
Provence; but Bonaparte wished to land at a headland in Languedoc,
fearing that Toulon might be occupied by the enemy.
_La Muiron_ was making for Port-Vendres when a squall threw her back on
Corsica and compelled her to put into Ajaccio. The whole population of
the Island flocked thither to greet their compatriot and crowned the
heights dominating the gulf. After a few hours' rest, hearing that the
whole French coast was clear of the enemy, they set sail for Toulon.
The wind was fair, but not strong.
Now, amidst the tranquillity which he had communicated to all,
Bonaparte alone appeared agitated, impatient to land, now and again
clapping his small hand suddenly to his sword. The ardent desire to
reign which had been fermenting within him for three years, the spark
of Lodi, had set him in a blaze. One evening, while the indented
coast-line of his native island was fading away into the distance, he
suddenly began to talk with a rapidity which confused the syllables of
the words he spoke:
"If a atop is not put to it, chatterers and fools will complete the
downfall of France. Germany lost at Stockach, Italy lost at the
Trebbia; our armies beaten, our Ministers assassinated, contractors
gorged with gold, our stores empty and deserted, invasion imminent, to
this a weak and dishonest government has brought us.
"Upright men are authority's only support. The corrupt fill me with an
invincible loathing. There is no governing with them."
Monge, who was a patriot, said firmly:
"Probity is as necessary to liberty as corruption to tyranny."
"Probity," replied the General, "is a natural and profitable quality in
men born to govern."
The sun was dipping its reddened and magnified disc beneath the misty
circle of the horizon. Eastward the sky was sown with light clouds
like the petals of a falling rose. On the surface of the sea the blue
and rosy waves rolled softly. A ship's sail appeared on the horizon,
and the telescope of the officer on duty showed her to be flying the
British flag.
"Have we escaped countless dangers only to perish so near our desired
haven!" exclaimed La Valette.
Bonaparte shrugged his shoulders.
"Is it still possible to doubt my good luck and my destiny?"
And he continued his train of thought:
"A clean sweep must be made of these rogues and fools. They must
be replaced by a compact government, swift and sure in action,
like the lion. There must be order. Without order, there can be no
administration, without administration, no credit, no money, but the
ruin of the State and of individuals. A stop must be put to brigandage,
to speculation, to social dissolution. What is France without a
government? Thirty millions of grains of sand. Power is everything. The
rest is nothing. In the wars of Vendée forty men made themselves the
masters of a department. The whole mass of the people desire peace at
any price, order and an end of quarrelling. Fear of Jacobins, Émigrés,
Chouans will throw them into the arms of a master." "And this master?"
inquired Berthollet. "He will doubtless be a military leader?"
"Not at all," replied Bonaparte swiftly. "Not at all I A soldier never
will be the master of this nation, a nation illuminated by philosophy
and science. If any General were to attempt the assumption of power,
his audacity would soon be punished. Hoche thought of doing so. I know
not whether it was love of pleasure or a true appreciation of the
situation that restrained him; but the blow will assuredly recoil
on any soldier who attempts it. For my part, I admire that French
impatience of the military yoke, and I have no hesitation in admitting
that the civil power should be pre-eminent in the State."
On hearing such a declaration, Monge and Berthollet looked at one
another in amazement. They knew that Bonaparte, in spite of the perils,
known and unknown, was about to grasp at power; and they failed to
comprehend words which would seem to deny him that which he so ardently
coveted. Monge, who, at the bottom of his heart, was a lover of
liberty, began to rejoice. But the General, who divined their thoughts,
replied to them immediately: "Of course, if the nation were to discover
in a soldier such civil qualities as would render him an efficient
administrator and ruler, it would place him at the head of affairs;
but it would have to be as a civil not as a military leader. Such must
needs be the feeling of any civilized, intelligent and educated nation."
After a moment's silence, Bonaparte added:
"I am a member of the Institute."
For a few moments longer the English ship was visible on the purpling
belt of the horizon; then it disappeared.
On the morning of the next day, the watch sighted the coast of France.
Yonder was Port-Vendres. Bonaparte fixed his gaze on the low, faint
streak of land. A tumult of thoughts was surging in his mind. He had
a striking and confused impression of arms and togas; in the silence
of the sea an immense clamour filled his ears. And amidst visions of
Grenadiers, magistrates, legislators and human crowds, he saw smiling
and languishing, her handkerchief to her lips, her throat bare,
Josephine, the remembrance of whom burned in his blood.
"General," said Gantheaume, pointing to the coast, which was growing
bright in the morning sunshine, "I have brought you whither destiny
called you. You, like Æneas, reach a shore promised you by the gods."
Bonaparte landed at Fréjus on the 17th of Vendémiaire in the year VIII.
[1] René de Vertot (1655-1735), author of three books on revolutions:
_Histoire des Révolutions de Suède,_ 1695; _Histoire des Révolutions
de Portugal,_ 1711; _Histoire des Révolutions arrivées dans le
gouvernement de la République romaine,_ 1720.